Garbage for Algernon

Mice have an uncanny knack for finding their way indoors. Their points of entry typically remain a mystery to those of us on two legs. Honestly, I’d rather not have to vanquish them from the premises, but what choice do I have? Those poppy seed-looking droppings on my stove, butcher-block table, and kitchen counter top cannot be tolerated.

A couple of nights ago, I placed a new garbage bag in my kitchen trashcan and—moments later—heard a crinkling sound coming from it. Considering that I was on high mouse alert, I feared the worst when I peered into the bag. When I spied no such creature on four legs, I heaved a huge sigh of relief. It was bedtime and a live-mouse sighting was the last thing I needed before entering the land of Nod.

In the wee small hours of the morning, however, my good fortune lapsed and the crinkling sound returned louder than ever. I couldn’t rationalize it away this go-round. So, I gingerly rose from my bed, walked into the kitchen, and nervously gazed into the trashcan. I don't exactly know why little mice frighten big people so much, but they sure do. Well, the bag therein was flattened—completely. I logically deduced that there was a mouse-in-motion somewhere underneath it. Rather than lift the bag up in the middle of the night and confirm my suspicion, I carried the can to my front door, deposited it in the great outdoors, and went back to sleep never having laid eyes on a creature of the night.

In the morning, I walked my kitchen trashcan to the curbside, placed it on its side, and gingerly plucked out the trash bag, which was speckled with poppy-seed droppings and wet with urine. A tiny mouse darted away in a circular frenzy to God knows where. I sincerely hope that it didn’t find its way back into the house, where the poor critter would very likely have consumed poison from the traps that I set. Again, I hate to have to do it—and feel guilty about it, too—but it’s the law of the jungle. Anyway, on to more pleasant thoughts in the fledgling days of autumn.

It's the little things in life that often bring us the most pleasure. Discovering a Krispy Kreme Doughnuts rack recently at a local drug store brightened my day. I stored them on my butcher-block table, which was reason enough to stanch the mouse invasion toot sweet.

Goldbelly has come into my life with a vengeance. In virtual reality, ads for it appear everywhere. Some things, I guess, are worth vastly overpaying for the privilege...

Gray skies...smiling at me...nothing but gray skies do I see. Now, how about a little rain.

After two months of channeling Uncle Kevin, I, at long last, made my comeback...rather awkwardly but it felt good nonetheless.

Here's an update on the "Keep Lock" locker at the Van Cortlandt Park Terminal. It's showing wear and tear with the passage of time, just like the rest of us.

Nowadays, more and more bicycles are seen on the streets and subway platforms of New York City. This is both a good and bad thing. Good for the environment and overall traffic situation, but something of a pedestrian menace in places. While getting hit by a bicycle is preferable to getting struck by a car, truck, or bus, I like to feel safe after crossing a busy street. Be ever-vigilant of those bike paths and those whizzing bicyclists.

Being on the subway is music to my ears. Actually, no, it's quite horrifying in many instances.

It was a very nice weekend in the bright light of day and—from my perspective at least—rather uneventful in the underground. Not quite music to my ears, but not horrifying either.

This reminded me of being a little kid with a missing front tooth.

It isn't just ants that squirrel away for winter. Squirrels deserve their due, too.

If you can't have the whole world in your hands, Lady Liberty is the next best thing. In one of your hands at least.

Another year has passed. It's time for the eighteenth annual Tunnel to Towers 5K Run & Walk, which raises money for the first responders, military personnel, civilians, and families impacted by the tragic events of 9/11.  Lots of bottled water for participants. 

It was ideal weather for this year's marathon, which retraces FDNY firefighter Stephen Siller's steps on September 11, 2001. He had finished his shift and was on his way home when word reached him that a plane had struck one of the World Trade Center towers. Siller reversed course, strapped on seventy-five pounds of gear, and made his way through the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel on foot. He lost his life that day.

This is the ultimate catbird's seat.

Sun...take a good look around...the Tunnel to Towers Run & Walk makes one appreciate that there is more to America than political posturing and pathetic politicians. It's quite a diverse event, too. We're

all in this together after all, aren't we?

Be it ever so crumble...there's no place like home. Some places, though, are a whole better.

After a major renovation, a spanking new, modern McDonald's finally opened in the old neighborhood. Evidently, the place means an awful lot to an awful lot of people. I'm not one of them. Its reopening doesn't rise to the level of spying a Krispy Kreme Doughnuts rack in the drug store. 

Finally, it's time to stop and think about the future. Do you know where you're going to? Do you like the things that life is showing you? Krispy Kreme Doughnuts in the store—yes! Tunnel to Towers Run & Walk—yes. Reading the news—no! The contemporary state of the American politician and politics—no, no, no!

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)